Two Contrasting Books to end 2025

​Thanks to some long flights with uninterrupted time, I was able to read 2 more books to close off the year.  These were 2 completely different genres from all the other books I read this year. 

Review: Peace Through Power by Lukas Haynes

I recently had the pleasure of reading the latest work by my good friend and fellow Sepsis Alliance Board member, Lukas Haynes. A distinguished scholar and expert in U.S. foreign policy, Haynes has produced a remarkable treatise titled "Peace Through Power," published by the Foreign Policy Association (FPA).

The book offers an insightful look into the formation of the United Nations following the failure of the League of Nations. Haynes reveals that the seeds of the UN were sown as early as 1940, while World War II was still in its infancy. He provides a "ring-side seat" to the high-level diplomacy and intricate machinations involving FDR’s United States, Churchill’s United Kingdom, and Stalin’s Russia. Each leader recognized that the menace of global conflict between superpowers could only be prevented through a unified, collective will.

Much like the Federalist Papers or the framing of the U.S. Constitution, the conception of the UN is presented here as a masterclass in foresight. As the title suggests, the organization was designed to strengthen the United States through a broad global strategy rather than a parochial, "country-first" approach. This globalism was a calculated defense against the post-war isolationism that might have otherwise invited another world war.

Indeed, it is more accurate to say that the UN was built with American national defense at its core. While today’s isolationist rhetoric is not new—and may make the UN seem counterintuitive to self-defense—Haynes illustrates the organization’s true strategic value. The narrative explores not only international trade-offs but also the monumental internal effort required to align the State Department, the military, wiith the heads of the Army and Navy (the Air Force being a fledgling organization at the time), and the Office of the President.  

I highly recommend Peace Through Power to any student of history or anyone genuinely concerned with the long-term safety and stability of our great nation.

Review: Azhwargalai Aradhippom by Indra Soundarrajan

In stark contrast to the historical diplomacy of my first read, the second book I finished is a journey of Bhakti—devotion and total surrender to the Supreme Being. Titled "Azhwargalai Aradhippom" by the late Indra Soundarrajan, it is a beautiful compilation in Tamil detailing the lives of the Vaishnava Acharyas and Saints.

Their collective devotion forms the foundation of the worship of Lord Sriman Narayana, immortalized in the "Naalayira Divyaprabandham." This "Book of 4,000 Divine Hymns" consists of verses that poured from the hearts of the twelve Azhwars (Saints). Written in Tamil, these hymns are considered equal in spiritual weight to the four Sanskrit Vedas and are often described as being composed at the divine desire of the Lord Himself.

Though their lives spanned several centuries and they came from vastly different backgrounds, the author highlights remarkable similarities in their spiritual journeys. Each saint experienced a transformational moment where they recognized the profound strength found in absolute surrender.

While this book may have a specific appeal to the Vaishnavite community and Tamil readers, its message is universal. If you have any interest in the power of Bhakti as a path to Moksha (liberation), these stories are essential reading. For me, it was a deeply moving experience, and I am grateful to my parents for recommending it.

The author, who recently passed away, left behind a significant legacy of Tamil literature that I look forward to exploring further. On a personal note, this particular copy has become a prized possession—it now carries the autograph of the legendary Krish Srikkanth! 😜

Brothers 'n Charms

​Brothers 'n CHARMS by Ranga Sampath 

Never did I imagine I'd meet my childhood cricketing idol. And definitely not at his home, sharing a casual evening laughter with cuppa chai and soup! This story has unlikely facilitators in two other brothers - both mine and more importantly his.

It all began on my birthday. As has become our habit, we began winter vacation in the air that day -- those typical long distance intercontinental flights across multiple time zones!  I have been known to milk these events by having my fellow travelers wish me in each time zone. This time was no different We flew in from San Diego to DC to Frankfurt enroute to Chennai. The journey was already made special in DC as we bumped into my IITM classmate, Sivudu (Anand Sivasubramanian) in the lounge, also traveling to Chennai. Quite the coincidence. As we were waiting in line to board the FRA-MAA flight, the familiar sounds of people speaking Tamizh hit our ears. I felt we were closer to home! Right next to us was a small group of people who seemed to know each other and had a friendly banter going. Then one gentleman from that group said  "Today is Srikant's birthday!" My ears perked up! I knew that Krishnamachhari Srikkanth, India's swashbuckling, fearless opening batsman from the 80s, shared my birthday, but could he be referring to the same guy? Never one to be intimidated by strangers, I mentioned that it was my birthday also! The gentleman gave me a smile and said he was Srikkanth's brother, Srinaath, and indeed he was referring to my hero!! I couldn't believe it. An instant bond was formed. Soon we boarded, and lo and behold, Srinaath was seated next to me across the aisle. This would be a memorable flight, I had a feeling. 

A word about Srinaath -- he is one of the most pleasant and friendly people you can meet! He is very open and warm; he exudes compassion and care. And he's spontaneous! He decided we'd celebrate my birthday on board and asked the purser if he could arrange for a small cake. Next thing I know I have a friendly Lufthansa crew with a personalized card and cake for me.  I cut it with everyone around me singing Happy Birthday to me. Then Srinaath asked me if I'd like to speak to Srikkanth! Would I? No doubt about it. He dialed his brother and I heard the voice of Cheeka, as he's familiarly called, on the line. We greeted each other on our shared birthday and that was  that. I had received my best gift already! Or had I?

In the meantime, I eagerly shared my cake-cutting video and selfies taken with Srinaath  with my family in India. My brother, Sridhar immediately responded saying Srinaath looked familiar! As Srinaath and I continued our conversations, I told him Sridhar seemed to recognize him. I showed him Sridhar's photo- and, the next surprise- Srinaath instantly knew where they had met: a business gathering in Chennai, 2 weeks prior! Small world. Then Srinaath uttered the next magical words: Would I be interested in meeting Cheeka? I couldn't believe my ears! Of course I would, I told him, but we were heavily time-constrained on the current trip. We settled on being in touch and he said I could reach out whenever I had time in the future. The rest of the flight was pleasant and we parted in Chennai, promising to stay in touch. 

Early the next morning when Maya and I woke up in Chennai we realized we had a short window the same evening, a day after my birthday, where we could possibly meet Srikkanth. I wrote to Srinaath if he was serious about his offer and if the very short notice would work for him and, more importantly Srikkanth, to meet. The response was affirmative! Both of them were available and we could meet at 630 pm!  Sridhar in the meantime was also excited - we both grew up loving Cheeka - and offered to drive us to Neelankarai. Maya, whose indoctrination to cricket was completed in 2025 with live, in-stadium, presence at Leeds, followed by not missing a ball of the exciting 5-match England vs India test series earlier this summer,  was also infected by the excitement! 

The Visit 

Neelankarai is on East Coast Road. This was once a sleepy town far from the city on the way to Mahabs when Srikkanth had bought a large piece of land and built his home in the late 80s.  Now,  with growing IT activities, it has become hard to reach due to traffic. Despite this, we managed to get there at the promised hour and the gates to the villa/mansion was opened by the watchman. As we stepped in, Srikkanth welcomed us from his beautifully manicured garden which had a nice gazebo and sitting area! Srinaath made the introductions and we were off down memory lanes. Sridhar and I had witnessed Cheeka's test and first ODI centuries in the series against Pakistan in 1987. Incidentally, both times  his score was 123! I saw it at Chepauk, in Chennai, while he had witnessed it in Eden Gardens, Kolkata! Except his game ended in an unexpected upset loss due to late heroics by Salim Malik!  When we asked Srikkanth about those moments, we could tell he was still upset about it! In his typical blunt fashion he blamed the captain, Kapil Dev, for throwing the match away with some bone-headed decisions! We, as upset spectators, totally agreed. We had clinched defeats from the jaws of victory in fading lights at the Eden! After all these years it clearly rankles all 4 of us. 

Srikkanth's candor and openness in speech is legendary. Many may find it difficult to  deal with, especially how he criticizes the players of today during his Tamil commentary! But, as Sridhar noted, there's a cult-following for his   Tamil commentary which approaches cricket with the same gusto as his batting - irreverent but effective. No holds barred irrespective of who's in front of him. He speaks his mind - only that his mind speaks in Madras bhaashai!! We in fact talked about his batting style and why he thought he could hit any bowler at any time - from ball number 1. He was unflinching in his response - he could read the bowlers hands very early and had the hand-eye coordination needed to take apart the bowler. He backed himself at  all times. He wistfully noted that if he had been given more rope, as some of the modern day cricketers are getting, he could've played longer! No regrets in his voice though. When asked about bowlers whom he found challenging, pat came rhe answer - Marshall and Akram! We had always known this. The memories of Sharjah where he hit Malcolm for a 4 and a 6 only to be cleaned up on the third bowl is an everlasting memory. Akram hastened his end with swinging yorkers that used to thud into his hapless pads. He readily admitted he couldn't pick those up because of Wasim's action. But there was no fear in him when it came to Imran, Holding or Roberts, all of whom he has hit for runs throughout his career. He said they were easy to pick up. Back to the two scores of 123 that Sridhar and I had witnessed, we can vouch for how thrilling it was to see him dismantle both Imran and Qadir, two best bowlers in that Pak squad, taking them for 20+ runs in an over! Repeatedly! Some of those shots are ringing in my ears even today. 

1983 and 1985

These are the two biggest stages where Cheeka established his reputation! And India learned to believe in itself against the mighty sides of the opposition. 

Windies were ruling supreme in '83. No one, not  even the Indians, believed we had any chance to do anything meaningful in the tournament. However, the young side led by Kapil came with the aspirations to do better than in 1975 and 1979 where in 6 matches they had only won one, against the lowly "East Africa" team - where is East Africa anyway? They were in a tough division in 1983, with the 2-time defending champions as well as the mighty Aussies! We played each other 2x in the opening stages. Zimbabwe matches  were our only realistic hopes to win, at best. 

Fairy tale began when india upset the Windies in the opening match. We had just finished a grueling away series in the Caribbeans and had put up a good fight without making a dent on the series win column. That was probably the best that had happened because Windies took us for granted and we had become familiar with their intimidation tactics! The entire fairy tale of the 1983 WC win has been captured beautifully in the epic "83"! I won't repeat the triumphs and heartbreaks here - if someone hasn't watched the movie I highly recommend you put everything down and go watch it now. But there are a few indelible moments for me that are worth repeating here as we all reveled in the recall. 

First, Cheeka confirmed that the movie was, in his opinion, 99% accurate. Anything that was made up fit within the 1 %. Of course this may be an exaggeration. One that had lingered in my mind was regarding the use of "mongoose bat" by Kapil Dev in the transformational Epic knock of 175 n.o.against Zimbabwe! Movie shows this but because there was no TV coverage of the match that day (BBC technical staffers went  on strike) we hadn't seen it. Not only did Srikkanth confirm this, later in the evening we saw the autographed personalized momento of this mongoose bat that each of the teamates was given and hangs in his collection in a framed case. Impressive bat! Check, true story. 

Second, the funny part in the movie was the time when Srikkanth, Kapil and Jimmy Amarnath get invited by a Tamil family. Cheeka was looking forward to this as he was tired of the "awful north indian dishes and sandwiches" (sic) he had to put up with till then. Unbeknownst to him, the family is portrayed as canvassing to get him married to their daughter. The visit actually happened - their family friends lived in Manchester and had indeed invited them. But by then Cheeka was already marries to Vidya, (incidentally a few years my senior from DTEA Lodhi Road), and the family was fully aware of it. So the 1% was the added spice of matchmaking!!

Finally, the best part for a Srikkanth lover, he was the Top Scorer of the Finals. A measly 38! Out to a Marshall Beauty! A moment of heartbreak for all of us watching the match live for the first time! But a magical Kapil catch much later would not only dismiss the marauder Sir Viv, but ensure that 38 was a match winning and highest knock that day. India held aloft the Prudential World Cup! The whole nation woke up to a cricket dream. From here on every loss would be  a dagger in the heart and the team mindset turned to a winning one. 1983 is "When  It All Started". 

As defending world champions, India entered 1985 Benson and Hedges tournament in Australia with a burden. World was out to prove we were a fluke who got lucky in 83! While there is no movie '85 yet, and I can write pages about that tournament, let's just say Srikkanth as the opener ensured we wouldn't falter. The large grounds in Australia usually intimidate batsmen as clearing them for 4s and 6s is more challenging. Not for Cheeka. He dismantled opposition bowlers like they were net bowlers and India won the tournament never once failing to be in front. The belief was now firmly established. All cricketing glory would have to go through India from here on. We were not to be taken lightly. While we  failed to win another WC title till 2011, the disappointment of 1987 home loss to England in SF or 1996  ignominy in Kolkata to the marauding Lankans that led to riots in the stands notwithstanding, India had woken up to an era of expectations. Kapil Dev and Srikkanth had led us to that belief. They were the stepping stones - the pioneers on whose shoulders future stars would shine.

I digress. Or do I? These are Srikkanth's stories. Those who watched him bat were awestruck. From Richie Benaud in the commentary box to Sunil Gavaskar, the man who defined opening batting  and  who once scored a "classic" 36 n.o. in 60 overs in 1975, were left applauding the stroke play. There was no putting the genie back in the  box. From Sidhu to Sehwag to Dhawan, Rohit, Jaiswal and Abhishek, the improvisations have advanced leaps and bounds, but at a time when no one had heard of T20, IPL and fielding restrictions, Cheeka stood tall and delivered. Perhaps the best compliment was seeing in action Sunny out  pacing Srikkanth against NZ in 1987 WC innings. What a dramatic turnaround.  Best form of praise is imitation indeed!!

The Gift That Keeps On Giving!

We had not planned this visit. I desperately wanted his autograph. Only thing I had handy was a book on Azhwars (Vaishnava saints) by Late Indra Soundarrajan! An amazing book, but semed an odd choice for a cricketer's autograph. Since I had no  other option, I took it along with me. Cheeka unknowingly brought up a topic that made perfect connection. We were talking about our disappointments on so many occasions where Cheeka would throw his wicket away after scoring 20-30 runs. Not because the bowlers did something special, but it was often to ordinary balls. In his inimitable style, perhaps with a bit if sadness tinging voice, he admitted he was "arrogant", didn't think most bowlers needed to be respected, adding it was the "Iyengar Kozhuppu" 😜😜! The highest form of ego in the "I, Iyer, Iyengar" ladder! The minute he said it I had my cue to bring out the Azhwars book!! He gladly signed it. 

Then the unexpected happened. He ran into his house even as we were all talking and was gone for a few minutes. Then he came back with the perfect gift befitting the stylish batsman. Miniature bats with his WC '83 and B&H'85 images along with group photo of his teammates. He autographed the bats and spoke kindly before handing it to us. Our cup was brimming over. 

The last and equally surprising part of the evening was yet to come. Srinaath suggested Cheeka take us inside the house to his trophy collection in his office. Srikkanth almost seed embarrassed by this but thankfully he was open to this. What a treasure trove. See the photos and you'll see what I mean. A replica of the Prudential WC 1983 trophy, autographed bats, various trophies. He allowed us to photograph them and also kindly posed with us, capping off a memorable evening. 

We had spent over an hour with him and all 5 of us could have talked for another 2! But we didn't want to overextend our invitation and said our goodbyes, albeit reluctantly. Couldn't believe this had actually happened. On the car ride back we 3 were unanimous in our feeling that this had been the best thing we could have done. The brothers, Srikkanth and Srinaath, were gem of human beings - so down to earth, warm and hospitable. Made us feel at home. 

Maya has been a cricket convert since we met and started watching mostly WC matches. In 1999 we nearly named our child based on one of the modern stars of that time- Sachin, Sourav, or Rahul! Luckily we had a girl!! We stay up all night for WC matches even now, often with our San Diego family group either in person or via texting. But she never knew Cheeka. Couldn't understand why I'd go on and  on about a yesteryear hero. And how awkward it'd be for her to come meet someone she knew nothing about. If it were not for my child-like enthusiasm and insistence we may never have made this. She was willing to humor me as it was my birthday. After the one hour I think she's as big a fan if not bigger. Sridhar of course was the beneficiary of all this but he rescheduled multiple meetings and was eager to drive through the Chennai traffic all the way to Neelankarai on a weekday evening to meet Cheeka! There was no way he was going to miss out on this. 

Thank you Cheeka for the  hospitality and for trusting your brother's words. You didn't just open doors to your house but also to your heart. Bigger thanks to Srinaath for taking a typical airport friendship to a very different level. I didn't expect you to respond to my message after we had parted. Had a sinking feeling it was going to be a case of so near yet so far. But you were sincere in your words followed through. We were blown away. I dedicate this day to you and Sridhar for bringing us all together! Truly Brothers in Arms! 

Book Review: Wizards of Oz by Brett Mason

A Scientist’s Reflection on the Australian "Gifts" that Saved the West

By Ranga Sampath

I was gifted a book earlier this year by my good friend and colleague, Don Chalfin. Thanks, Don. It took me a while to get to it but once I started, I finished it in under 3 days. As I wrap up 2025, a year where the world often feels like it is fraying at the edges, this book provided the perfect antidote to my cynicism. Brett Mason’s Wizards of Oz is, quite simply, "unputdownable." It captures the electric, desperate excitement of scientific discovery occurring in the shadow of a raging war. But more than a history of WWII, it is a story of how we are shaped—and often misled—by the textbooks we read.

The "Fleming Myth" and the Scientist’s Course Correction

As a scientist working daily on infectious disease diagnostics, sepsis, and the terrifying rise of Antimicrobial Resistance (AMR), I thought I knew the history of my own tools. I had always accepted the standard hagiography: Alexander Fleming discovers the clearance of S. aureus in a messy Petri dish, and modern medicine is born.

Mason’s book was a startling "course correction." I learned, to my own professional shame, that Fleming had essentially given up on the mold, moving on to sulfa drugs. The transformation of a laboratory curiosity into a life-saving drug was not Fleming’s work—it was the result of the gargantuan efforts of the Australian Howard Florey and his team at Oxford.

Operating on shoestring budgets in the midst of a blitzed Britain, Florey’s team proved the drug worked, but found no one believed it could be manufactured at scale. It took Florey’s relentless advocacy and a "perfect storm" of geopolitical necessity to force U.S. pharma companies to mass-produce it. To think of the lives saved—exceeding the death toll of all 20th-century wars combined—we must do more than just know Howard Florey; we must celebrate him as the true architect of modern medicine.

The Radar and the Radical: Mark Oliphant

The book pairs Florey with his younger compatriot, the physics genius Mark Oliphant. Like Florey, Oliphant brought a specific "colonial grit" to the stuffy halls of Cambridge. His team contributed two tectonic shifts to the global order:

1. Microwave Radar: A small-footprint device that gave the Allies a unique advantage. By pinpointing German Luftwaffes and U-boats with precision, this single device neutralized German technical superiority and arguably turned the tide of the war in the air and at sea.

2. The Atomic Pivot: While many (including the Germans) believed a Uranium bomb was a theoretical impossibility, Oliphant’s team proved that U235 could be extracted in sufficient quantities.

The Shift of the Scientific Center of Gravity

As someone working in science today, I am used to the U.S. being the undisputed sun around which research orbits. Mason reminds us that in 1940, the heart of discovery was in Europe—Copenhagen, Oxford, Cambridge. America didn't have the capability; they had the will and the means.

The three most consequential inventions of the century—Penicillin, Radar, and Fission—were essentially gifts from two Australians via Britain to the United States. America provided the "ownership mindset" and the industrial scale to transform these prototypes into the technologies that defined the "American Century."

A Call to Action: Protecting the Miracle

Mason includes a quote that resonates deeply with any researcher: "WWII was the first war in human history to be won by weapons and technology unknown at the start of the war!"

However, as a specialist in infectious disease, this history carries a heavy warning. Howard Florey didn't just give us a drug; he gave us a lifeline. Today, that lifeline is fraying. The overuse of antibiotics and the resulting rise of AMR threaten to push us back into a "pre-Florey" era where simple infections once again become death sentences.

We owe it to Florey’s legacy not just to celebrate his discovery, but to protect it. We must invest in diagnostics, stewardship, and new discovery with the same "war-effort" urgency that Oliphant and Florey showed eighty years ago.

Final Thoughts: Optimism for 2026

As I look toward the coming year, Wizards of Oz gives me hope. It reminds me that when the world seems to be falling apart, it is often the quiet, relentless endeavor of scientists—often those we haven't yet learned about in our textbooks—who will lift us all up again.

The True Horror is Not only the Monsters, But the System That Enabled Them: Review of Nobody's Girl by Virginia Roberts Giuffre

Virginia Roberts Giuffre's memoir, Nobody’s Girl, is not just a book; it is a seismic cultural and judicial document. This essential, yet agonizing, read forces the reader to confront not just the monstrous acts of two individuals—Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell—but the vast, suffocating complicity of global power structures. Giuffre’s immense bravery provides the foundation for this horrific narrative, laying bare the painful truth of a systemic betrayal that began with childhood trauma and led to exploitation by the global elite. While the names of the perpetrators—from professors to royalty—may be known, this review argues that the punishment for the profound moral crime committed by society's self-declared leaders is woefully insufficient. Nobody’s Girl is a powerful, unflinching demand for structural change, reminding us that the silence surrounding abuse is the real collaborator of evil.

The book lays bare the painful truth that her later exploitation began with a catastrophic breakdown of safety at home. Giuffre chronicles a childhood steeped in trauma, marked by a sexually abusive father and a mother whose passivity and complicity sealed the cracks of her broken home. What she endured as a child is both unimaginable and horrific. As a passive reader observing her journey, one is left shocked by the depth of this betrayal and perhaps surprised that Giuffre didn't remain more profoundly critical of her parents until the book’s end. This formative trauma left her vulnerable, a target perfectly softened for the predators waiting in the wings.

The sheer depravity of Ghislaine Maxwell and Jeffrey Epstein’s machine—preying on young, innocent underage girls—is beyond any words of shame or shock; it is abhorrent. Yet, the story's true power lies in its unflinching revelation of the global elite who participated. The chilling "clients"—professors, scientists, royalty, and the immensely powerful—who used their status to take advantage of these women only deepen the crime. While the recent fallout from the Epstein estate document disclosures has led to figures like Larry Summers being removed from prominent roles at Harvard, and Prince Andrew being stripped of his "Royal" title, the punishment for the systemic complicity and profound moral crime committed by these self-declared leaders of society is woefully insufficient. This story is not dead; presidents and prime ministers were reportedly involved—people too powerful to be fully named by Virginia—and many are still walking free.

The horror that the "Parade of women" have had to face in the judicial and public spheres to justify their accusation—while these powerful men used their wealth and might to crush them—is a grotesque second wave of abuse. The named and the nameless victims who stood up against this machine are all heroes. Virginia’s story ensures their harrowing accounts are finally taken seriously and given the weight they deserve.

Epstein was a monster. Period. His death in prison was a pity, not because he was owed justice, but because whoever killed him did him a profound favor, denying the victims a full, public reckoning. However, the world is still not talking enough about the atrocities committed by Ghislaine Maxwell. Despite her conviction, the pervasive minimization of her role as a pedophile and chief enabler is itself a continuation of the cover-up. She preyed on these young women and ruined their lives simply because she could. As Virginia states in her closing, G. Max leveraged her femininity to lure and trap girls into sexual slavery, an act just as heinous as Epstein's. The reported pussyfooting by the current administration on her jail term—and the mere consideration of a presidential pardon—is beyond the pale and represents the worst kind of "money can buy favors" nonsense. She deserves the strictest of jail terms and no comfort in her old age. There must be no mercy for the magnitude of the crime committed.

The convenient excuse of complicity and turning a blind eye must be rejected. Very few of the rich and famous have paid even a small price for their actions. More needs to happen, and quickly. The uncomfortable truth that institutions like Harvard, MIT, and Brown accepted funding from, or through, Epstein suggests a rot that extends far beyond the bedroom. Famous scientists, not just politicians, participated in this heinous act and, scandalously, got away with it.

All fingers point, rightfully, to the powerful men who deserve the primary blame for this large and still-continuing societal malaise. However, Giuffre’s story delivers a final, difficult punch: it was her mother and Ghislaine Maxwell—two powerful women who could have stemmed the rot early—who were instrumental in the suffering Virginia faced. This reminder must serve as a rallying cry, urging us to imagine the countless other girls who are still facing abuse at home, on their way back from school, in sports teams, or in churches—the supposed safe spaces that are often anything but. Nobody’s Girl is a demand for structural change, reminding us that the silence surrounding abuse is the real collaborator of evil. 

Sexual crimes and Sex-trafficking is not new- but with all the advancements humans are supposedly making, if we can't address this at a fundamental level, why are we making those advancements? 

The Voice and the Scythe: A Look at Arundhati Roy's "Mother Mary Comes to Me"

 

Arundhati Roy’s venture into memoir with Mother Mary Comes to Me is, above all, a powerful testament to the author’s singular, uncompromising voice. It is a work that both captivates with its fierce honesty and frustrates with its unsparing rhetoric, demanding a critical engagement that goes beyond simple admiration or dismissal.

What emerges most strikingly from the pages is the author’s extraordinary journey. Roy possesses the unquestionable right of memoir—to shape her own narrative, in her own raw, lyrical, and unconventional style. One cannot help but be impressed by the sheer force of will that allowed her to emerge from a difficult, even miserable, background to become a Booker Prize winner and a globally recognized thinker. This deep-seated resilience fuels the fierce passion for the causes she espouses, whether it be environmental activism, the fight for marginalized communities, or complex political movements across India. When she writes about these issues, her energy is undeniable, and her commitment is often deeply moving.

However, the book struggles with a profound thematic tension that ultimately hinders its narrative ambition. The title hints at a tribute to the author's mother, a suggestion the text seems to pursue, yet the overall tone is dominated by a sense of unresolved bitterness and critique. While the complexities of a mother-daughter relationship are valid territory for a memoir, the constant sense of "bitching about her mother" risks undermining the intended tribute, leaving the reader with a feeling of raw, pent-up anger rather than inspirational understanding.

This personal anger bleeds into the public sphere as Roy uses the memoir as a clear platform for her political persuasion. This is where the balanced critique must focus. While she is absolutely entitled to her viewpoint in a democracy, the book's presentation often feels like a one-sided, prosecutorial tearing down of opponents. It becomes a vehicle for propagating highly biased views, particularly in its anti-Hindu rhetoric and its unsparing disdain for the "motherland." Statements that contain easily verifiable falsehoods, such as the claim of no Muslims remaining in Gujarat after the riots (when census data clearly shows otherwise), transform the pen from a tool of insight into a scythe that tears down opposition without accountability. Similarly, her sweeping simplifications of complex, long-running issues like the plight of Kashmiri Pandits or the conflict in the Valley feel shallow and sometimes vain, reducing decades of violent tragedy to convenient political talking points.

Ultimately, Mother Mary Comes to Me is not a book for the faint of heart, or for those seeking balance. It is a scream of righteous indignation. Yet, the work closes with a moment of piercing vulnerability—a quiet meditation on creating a "grove instead of a grave," where unspoken truths about her mother could finally be shared. This touching thought hints that the core emotion is not hatred, but a complicated, painful love. It is a sentiment that makes one hope that, just as she found a measure of peace with her mother, she might one day find the capacity to extend some of that same complex love to the motherland she so fiercely scrutinizes, irrespective of its political or demographic majority.